Love you
by Old Ping Hai
Summary: John accidentally signs a text to Sherlock with the words "Love you" and then wonders if he'll ever be able to look his flatmate in the eye again. Rated K-plus for two men kissing, but that's it. From a prompt I saw on tumblr a week or so ago. Written for Cumbermey, who's in the hospital. Feel better fast, sweetie.


John was at work when Sherlock texted him for the umpteenth time that day. Most of the texts had been Sherlock demanding that John distract him from boredom. This one, though, was for a concrete, if annoying, reason.

_John, we need milk. — SH_

John happened to be between patients, so he texted Sherlock right back.

_Again? Third time this week and it's only Tuesday. What can you possibly be doing with the stuff? — JW_

John was with a patient when his phone vibrated next, and by the time he was able to check his messages, he had accumulated seven texts from the irritating git.

_Irrelevant. We need milk. Pick some up on the way home from the surgery. — SH_

_It would also be helpful if you would leave work now, as I require the milk immediately. — SH_

_John — SH_

_John? — SH_

_Have I inadvertently said something wrong? — SH_

_If so, I apologize. Although I have no idea what I would be apologizing for, I believe this is following the correct social protocol. — SH_

_John? Are you not speaking to me? I will attempt to use less milk in future, if that helps. — SH_

When he finally got rid of the mother who'd been convinced that her son's sore throat was diphtheria (against which the child had been thoroughly inoculated as an infant), John grabbed his phone and scanned the increasingly distressed-sounding messages. Although he had no reason to do so, he felt bad that he had inadvertently worried his demented flatmate. He texted back right away.

_Of course I'm still speaking to you. I was with a patient, Sherlock. — JW_

Sherlock immediately shot back with:

_I am relieved to hear it. Now, about the milk? — SH_

John started keying in his reply:

_Busy day at the surgery, so I can't leave early. But I_

His intercom buzzed. "Mrs. Jones is on her way back to you." John winced. Mrs. Jones was one patient who was truly ill, and he needed to go through her file quickly to remind himself of her previous visits and medications. So he deleted '_But I_' and hastily replaced it with _I have to go now, I have a patient. I'll get the milk on the way home. Love you._ He hit the "send" button before his mind caught up to his fingers. Then his face heated up and his heart began to pound. "Of all the stupid…I'll never be able to look Sherlock in the eye again," he thought miserably.

He received a very prompt reply.

_John, are you all right? Was that some kind of distress signal? — SH_

Mrs. Jones entered the office to find her physician frozen to his cell phone with a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

"Dr. Watson, is something wrong?"

"No, no, Mrs. Jones; sorry." He put the phone away. "Now, how are you feeling today? Do you still have the chest pain, or did the…um…the new medication help?" He fumbled guiltily for her file.

He went through Mrs. Jones's appointment in a daze. And the one after as well — a woman who had persuaded herself that she was suffering from a rare disease she had just learned about via the internet.

He was in the process of half-heartedly disabusing her of the idea when there was a commotion in the hallway. As the door to his office swung open he heard the receptionist say desperately, "Sir! You can't go in there! Sir!"

Sherlock stormed in nevertheless, and looked in annoyance at the woman sitting in the patient's chair. His eyes scanned her body from head to toe. "Get out," he said disdainfully. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you except that your husband is having an affair with his secretary."

"SHERLOCK!" John yelped. The woman skittered out of the room looking mortified. Sherlock slammed the door behind her (and directly in the face of the receptionist, who'd followed him down the hall in a futile effort to keep him out). He approached John, holding out his cell phone.

"Did you mean this?" he demanded.

John looked at the revealing words and gave a small, defeated nod. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock…" he started to say, when suddenly the detective swooped down to his height and kissed him. "Mmph," John finished up, and then he was kissing Sherlock back and running his hands through the man's wild curls.

That was enough of an answer for Sherlock, who broke off the kiss and said, "We shall discuss this further when you get home. Do not work late tonight." Then he turned around and swept out of the room without another word or a backward glance. The time elapsed from beginning to end was hardly one minute.

John saw the receptionist still standing outside the now-open door, looking nervous.

"Everything's fine, Sandra," he said, in what he hoped was a convincing tone. "That was my flatmate. He's a bit…eccentric. You don't have to call the police or anything." She looked dubious, but returned to the front desk without protest.

If John seemed a bit distracted for the next several appointments, no one mentioned it to him.

Sherlock would have had more than enough time to return to Baker Street when John's mobile vibrated next, announcing a new text message. It nearly killed John to have to wait until his patient left before he could check to see what Sherlock had to say.

_Don't forget to pick up the milk on the way home. — SH_

"I'm going to strangle him!" John said aloud. "Of course he couldn't possibly be arsed to pick up his own bloody milk while he was out!"

_Bzzzt._ Another text came in.

_Love you, too. — SH_


End file.
